


So Sweet You Make My Mouth Water

by mickeym



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Pre-Series, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-24
Updated: 2009-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1446277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sammy tastes like salt and sugar, and Dean knows he shouldn't know this. Shouldn't know how his brother tastes in the early morning, light filtering through thin curtains; shouldn't know how he tastes after a long run, or sets of pushups or sit-ups.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Sweet You Make My Mouth Water

**Author's Note:**

> Written for rivers_bend, who asked very nicely, and then felt guilty. No worries, honey, truly. Big Bang will get written, I promise. This wasn't supposed to be 3200 words, though. I figured about 500 or so, when I offered. Ah, well. Thanks to cormallen for lending me her eyes and her time, to look it over. ::snugs:: Hope y'all enjoy it :)

  
_The way he moved, it was a sin, so sweet and true  
Always wanting more, he'd leave you longing for_  
\--Alannah Miles, _Black Velvet_  


The road to Hell isn't paved with good intentions. It's paved with a little brother who is going out of his way to drive his older brother stark raving fucking insane.

A little brother who isn't so little any more, all long, coltish legs and awkward, fumbling steps, shoulders widening, chest broadening, tapering to slim waist and hips, belly so flat it's nearly concave. 

Sammy tastes like salt and sugar, and Dean knows he shouldn't know this. Shouldn't know how his brother tastes in the early morning, light filtering through thin curtains; shouldn't know how he tastes after a long run, or sets of pushups or sit-ups. Shouldn't know how he tastes in the shower, water cascading down in rivulets. 

He does, though. He knows, and he wants more, wants it all the time.

Sam knows it, too, damn him. Lounges around as close to naked as he can get and still be clothed, just a pair of running shorts, or last year's sweatpants, so thin they're almost translucent, hanging low on Sam's hips so Dean can see the thin trail of hair starting to form, running down from his navel, and the cut of muscle there, begging to be bitten. Does sit-ups when he knows Dean's trying to watch TV, lean muscles rippling beneath his skin, zero body fat, a long drink of water Dean wants to drown himself in.

"C'mon, Dean, please." Sam's still in bed, on top of the covers, boxer-briefs straining over his cock. "I want it. Want you." He rubs himself , shifting and canting his hips until the only way Dean's not going to see is if he looks away—and Sam knows Dean's not going to do that. Can't do that.

It's worse this morning, because they've had to behave themselves for the last several weeks while Dad was around, researching something he wouldn't talk about except to say it was dangerous and once he knew what he needed to do, he'd be gone.

He left a few hours ago, the usual, "take care of your brother" ringing in Dean's ears along with the sound of Dad's truck.

_Oh, man. If you only knew, Dad._

"Sammy, no. Man, you're too young." Same thing he's been telling Sam for freakin' half a year, now. Kid just won't take no for an answer. Keeps pushing and pushing, begging, teasing. "I can't—"

"You _can_ ," Sam says, voice cracking, breaking, dropping into the lower register. He clears his throat and wiggles, shifts a little more. "Lemme show you—how much I want it, Dean."

Oh, God. "Sam—"

"Shh." Sam licks his lips, and it's innocent and dirty all at the same time. Slick pink tongue, moisture sliding over his lips. Sam smiles when he notices Dean staring, does it again. And again. Bites down on his bottom lip, sucks on it until it's darker, swelling from the pressure. "See, first we'd kiss. Love kissing you, Dean. Gets me all hot, horny, all I wanna do is kiss you and rub off on you." He trails his fingers downward, tipping his head back on his pillow, exposing his neck. "I really like it when you give me a hickey. I like the bruise—how it feels when I push on it." 

He presses inward with his thumbs, and Dean can _see_ it, that imaginary bruise. Can picture himself biting down on Sam's throat, sucking heat up to the surface. His fingers twitch with the need to touch Sam, tilt his head just so, and give him that hickey. Mark him up so the whole fucking world knows he's _Dean's_.

"Wh—" He stops and clears his throat, mouth gone dry. "What would you do, next? I mean, we. I mean—" 

He has no clue what he means. That road to Hell? It's gonna be a short one, apparently.

Sam gives him this look then, a look that no fourteen year old should ever be able to manage. Sultry, sexy, pure sin, but blended with sweetness and innocence. It's a potent combination, would be even if Dean was a hundred and ten and had trouble getting it up. He's not, and he doesn't, and he's hard enough right now he could probably use his dick to hammer nails. 

He's also apparently a masochist, asking Sam to fucking _tease him some more_.

"You'd touch me. I like it when you touch me." Sam touches his nipples, fingertips rubbing, pinching lightly. He quivers visibly, and Dean has to bite his own lip to keep from groaning. "'Member the first time? You didn't even hardly touch my dick, just put your hands on me, here—" Sam raises one arm up, over his head; drags his fingers down the tender skin on the underside of his arm, follows it down into the sparse, silky hair growing there, then up and over his nipples again. 

Oh, god, he remembers.

Hot day, humid air settled over everything, and they went swimming in the creek behind the motel they were staying in. Cold, cold water, but it felt so good, too. Sam, swimming closer, brushing and bumping against Dean, rubbing up against his ass, his crotch, hard beneath the loose boxers he was wearing as swim trunks. So many days spent staring at each other, coming so close over and over, backing away because Sam was his to take care of, not to sex up. Until Sam took it out of his hands, and put Dean's hands on him, skin cooled from the water but hot beneath. All it took was Dean stroking his fingers down Sam's sides, lightly touching, fingers dipping beneath the elastic, barely brushing the tip of Sam's cock, and his brother arched against him and came, a low cry ripped from him.

"I know you want it, Dean. I can see it—see how hard you." Sam's ruffling the trail of hair below his belly button, sliding one finger under the edge of his shorts. C'mon, please, please fuck me. Please."

"Sam, Jesus." He falls back against his pillow, one hand over his eyes. It's killing him, he wants so much to touch, to take; wants to bury himself in the heat of Sam's body, stay in him forever. "You have issues with 'no', don't you?"

The only warning he gets is the creak of Sam's bed, and then he has almost six feet of horny, hungry brother plastered against him, Sam's mouth hot and wet against his neck, moving along his jaw line, the scrape of teeth making Dean shiver with pleasure. 

"No." Sam kisses Dean's mouth, tongue slipping along the seam between Dean's lips. When Dean opens, Sam pulls back, smirking at the hiss Dean makes. "I just don't believe you mean it." He nips at Dean's lower lip, then sucks on it, letting it slip from his mouth slowly as he sits back, settling himself astride Dean's hips. "I know you want it as much as I do—"

Dean snorts. 

That gets him a scowl, and before Dean's able to say anything, Sam's shimmying up onto his knees and pushing his shorts down his thighs, baring his dick. It's long and slender, flushed and hard, the tip shinywet where Sam's started leaking. While Dean watches, Sam grips himself loosely and starts stroking slowly, fist covering himself on every upstroke. Dean holds his breath at each one, waiting for the swollen head to appear again.

"I could make myself come like this," Sam says, the words thick, hoarse. "Just like this. But I'd rather ride your dick—"

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dean can hardly think, for the _want_ surging through him.

"Okay, that's enough." Dean surges upward, bucking Sam off him, backward, and grabbing at him so he doesn't fall off the small bed. "You are just asking for it, aren't you?"

"Been trying," Sam mutters, groaning when his dick is pressed against Dean's thigh as Dean hauls him over his lap. "Dean—"

"Nuh-uh. You did this. Brought this on yourself." One quick tug pulls Sam's shorts down and off, and Dean smacks his ass hard, wincing at the sting to his palm; feeling Sam echo the wince against him.

He smacks again, and a third time, hunger surging higher and higher in him as Sam's ass pinks up. Another couple smacks, low down where ass curves into thigh, and Sam keens high in his throat, struggling against Dean. No words, just breathy, choked sounds, pushing and pressing and trying to pull away.

Or not away; Dean's laid several more smacks down before he realizes Sam's rocking up to meet the blows, then downward, rubbing himself against Dean's leg.

"Dirty, dirty boy," Dean whispers, rubbing Sam's ass. It feels blazing hot and he presses his fingers into that heat; feels Sam's moan whisper through him. "God, Sam."

Sam rubs back against Dean's palm, whining low in his throat. "More, please, Dean—"

Dean's hand is shaking when he brings it down on Sammy's ass again, over and over until all he hears is the smack-crack sounds overlaid with Sam's grunts and whimpers. He stops a couple of times to rub at the heat, fingers teasing along Sam's crack, dipping just far enough in to make Sam shudder against him. He presses a little further in, rubbing over silky hot skin that gives way to tense muscle. One touch to the puckered opening, just enough pressure to barely breach it, and Sam shakes against him, groaning as his body jerks and he comes against Dean's leg, wet heat spreading slowly between them.

It's almost enough to make Dean cream his shorts right there, no other stimulation required. Almost. He's concentrating on slow, deep breaths, rubbing at Sam's ass, when Sam turns his head and fucking _nuzzles_ Dean's crotch. Warm, moist breath seeps through the thin-weave cotton of his underwear, and then Sam's mouthing at his dick through the shorts, and Dean can't hold on any more. He comes with a grunt, hips jerking forward so he's grinding against Sam's mouth, open against him, sucking at him. Pleasure pulses all through him, white-hot ripples he feels everywhere. 

It's fucking awesome, actually.

"Jesus," is all he manages before flopping backward. Sam grabs on, pulling himself up along Dean's body until he's laying more-or-less draped over Dean, one hand spread out over Dean's chest, fingers rubbing idly over one nipple.

"Still want you to fuck me," Sam says softly. The words are barely a whisper in Dean's ear, but damn if they don't make his dick twitch. "I think about it all the time, Dean." He kisses Dean's ear, licking at the lobe. "In school, when we're training, in the shower."

"Sammy…." He feels like a man drowning, going down for the second or third (or thousandth) time.

Sam sucks at a spot on Dean's throat, then licks his way back up to Dean's ear. "I think about it when I'm in the shower, fingering myself while I jack off."

Heat streaks through Dean just that fast, setting his heart to pounding so hard, so loud, that's all he hears. He's turning, pulling Sam closer toward him, kissing that goddamned evil, sexy smirk right off Sam's face.

His brother opens for him with a low moan, tangling his legs with Dean's, wriggling until they're more one person than two. Against Dean's stomach Sam's cock is already hardening again, making Dean's head spin. He has pretty quick recovery time, but Sam puts him completely to shame.

Low whimpers echo around them when Dean pulls back, then the sound of wet sucking noises when Dean presses a finger into Sam's mouth. He growls low in his throat when Sam lets his finger slide out, only to suck it back in again, tongue twisting and twining around it until Dean almost believes his finger and his dick are connected, somehow. He's hardening, not as fast as Sam did, but getting there. 

"Still not gonna fuck you, you pushy brat," he manages, drawing his finger from Sam's mouth. "Serve you right if I didn't touch you again the rest of the time dad's gone."

Sam scowls at him – it's really sad, Dean thinks, that even that look is hot on Sam – and tilts his head. He's opening his mouth to say something, and Dean uses that moment to press his wet finger against Sam's hole. Just enough pressure to make Sam feel him there, but not to breach him. Not yet. That's coming in a minute.

"Deeeeean—" Sam pushes back, practically snarls in frustration when Dean moves with him, so there's no more pressure. He circles the small pucker gently, stroking it, and leans in to whisper against Sam's mouth.

"You want me here, want it so bad you're driving me fucking _crazy_ with the teasing and pestering. You know what it does to me, thinking of you fingering yourself in the shower?" Sam's eyes are wide and dark, all pupil, his breath coming in fast, harsh gasps. "Makes me want to shove you down, take you hard. Make you take it. Jesus, Sammy. I wanna fuck you so bad I ache with it." 

He pushes just enough to feel Sam's body give a little, muscle resisting against the pressure. They both moan when the finger slides in, just inside, Sam's body squeezing tight around it. 

Just imagining that heat wrapped around his dick makes Dean want to give in to Sam's request, give him what he's been begging for. He swallows hard and pulls away from Sam, ignoring the whine he makes in favor of slapping him on his still-red ass.

"Roll over. On your back." 

Apparently the best way to get Sam to obey without question is to get him all worked up, because the minute Dean shifts out of the way, Sam's scrambling over like Dean said. Dean pushes his thighs wide and shoves until Sam pulls his legs up, leaving him spread open, looking good enough to eat.

"Gonna try something." Dean says, voice coming out a little rougher than he'd like. He shoves his shorts down and off, kicking them out of the way, then kneels down and pulls Sam to him, cupping his asscheeks and using his thumbs to spread him further.

"Dean--?" For the first time, Sam sounds a little uncertain, voice hitching on his name. Dean smiles reassuringly.

"You'll like this, Sammy, I promise. An' if you don't, just tell me to stop."

No words from Sam, just a hitching, uneven breath, but he relaxes into Dean's hands. Dean noses down the crease of Sam's leg where it joins his body, pressing sucking kisses to the thin skin there. He laps at Sam's balls, then runs his tongue down the raised seam, following it down to the tender, sensitive skin behind his sac. Sam tenses again, and when Dean licks a wide circle around he quivers, but remains silent.

First brush of Dean's tongue across his hole, though, Sam jerks and cries out. The sounds get increasingly hoarse and shaky as Dean laps at the little opening, retreating to nip and suck at the fleshy part of Sam's ass, then to kiss and lick the insides of his thighs before returning to lick again, circling Sam's hole with the tip of his tongue.

He circles and circles, then pushes gently, his dick throbbing when the muscle gives way a bit, Sam's body opening to him. God, he's—he's opening, open, and Dean wants to shove his tongue in, shove his dick in, taste and feel all that heat. He licks around the rim, squeezing and releasing like a tiny, hungry mouth grasping, then scrapes his teeth very gently over it. Sam bucks under him, and Dean can feel the tremors rippling through him.

"Oh, my God. Oh, God, Dean, please—please don't stop, don't—"

"Mmmm." It's the only thing he can do that doesn't require stopping what he's already doing, so Dean just hums again and sucks on the tender skin beside Sam's hole, then over it, tongue darting and flickering, lapping and pressing. 

Sam's panting, no more words now, just hungry, needy noises that mingle and mix with the wet, slippery sounds Dean's making. He pushes one leg up higher and presses a finger alongside his tongue and inside Sam. Another finger makes Sam push down against him, and Dean backs away enough to ask, "too much?"

"No, no, it's not, please, more, I just—please, need it, need you inside, God, Deee—oh!" He arches and pushes, and both of Dean's fingers are inside, buried as far as they can go. Dean sucks at Sam's balls and twists his fingers gently, moving them slowly, until he's fucking Sam with them, Sam squirming and wiggling and rocking down to meet them.

There's an almost-empty tube of lube peeking out from under Dean's bed. He vaguely remembers wondering where it went a week or two ago; now he fumbles for it with his free hand. Not much left in it, but enough to give a bit of extra slide and ease the friction. He crooks his fingers and presses, twisting and moving until he can feel Sammy's prostate. Gentle, then harder rubbing makes Sam suck in a breath and let it out in a long, low howl.

"Jerk yourself," Dean says hoarsely, and reaches for his own dick. Sam's writhing on the bed, gripping himself tight, jerking fast. "That's it, Sammy. Gonna come for me? Gonna come while you're being fucked?"

Sam's voice breaks when he says "yes"; it comes out sounding more like a sob than a word. Dean feels like sobbing himself, imagining Sam's body clenching and relaxing around his dick, and Sam's so close, right there, and he wants it—

"Oh, _god_ \--" Sam jerks again, body arching as he fucks up into his fist and down onto Dean's fingers. 

Dean watches Sam's balls draw up tight against his body, and then Sam's contracting, squeezing down around him, thin spurts of come striping his hand, his belly, dribbling down his dick. Dean jacks himself faster, still moving his fingers gently inside Sam, listening to his grunts and gasps as he shakes through one more spasm, and then he's coming, heat pooling at the base of his spine and shooting outward, pleasure washing through him and out of him.

He's on top of Sam almost before he's done shooting, Sam's mouth already open, tongue tangling eagerly with Dean's as they gasp and shiver together.

Their kiss gentles as they come down, until they're just nuzzling each other, bodies rubbing together.

Sam relaxes beneath Dean, sighing a little when Dean rolls off just enough so Sam can still breathe. He's halfway to sleep, limbs heavy and loose, when Sam's lips brush his forehead.

"Thanks."

"Mmm. My pleasure." Dean's sure if he could wake up enough to notice, he probably has a really idiotic grin on his face right now. Well, assuming he still has a face. Most of his body feels numb, heavy and stupid with sex.

Sam snorts, and brushes a kiss over Dean's ear, whispering, "Still want you to fuck me for real, later."

Thing is? Dean really wants to, too.

At least the road to hell isn't going to be boring.

~fin~


End file.
